Nobody told me that these early years were just the beginning of a long journey between us, mother and son, a journey that would take us to such high and low moments. Moments where I feared for you, where I feared for us.

I was having a chat with a friend the other day; we were discussing the difference between being a mum of boys vs being a mum of girls.

I was explaining how I felt my relationship with my grown sons was far more fragile than that of my almost grown up daughter and what impact that made on them as adults.

We started to dig deeper, why did I feel so different about being a mum to boys than being a mum to a girl? (aside from the obvs, tissues under the bed vs hunting out my eyeliner AGAIN from the pit of despair she calls her bedroom).